


Chase

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Hank, Bottom Hank Anderson, First Time, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), and this is my fic, because connor is a fucking android, if i say hank gets to come more than once, then he fucking well does god damn it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Hank would like to go on the record as saying that he’d always thought that this was an absoluteshitidea.





	Chase

Hank would like to go on the record as saying that he’d always thought that this was an absolute _shit_ idea.

Sending anyone into an undercover op was risky, double so when sex was involved, and _triple_ so when the undercover op involves sending in a fucking android two months into being free as a damned fake _escort_.

But no one had listened to him, and where had that gotten them? It got them into the suspect’s estate, sure, but now he and Connor were as good as _trapped_ in this tiny little utilities closet, and Hank really didn’t need his ass pressing against Connor’s front like this while he’s trying to focus everything he has on figuring out when it’ll be safe for them to move on. When he manages a glance over his shoulder, Connor’s eyes are unfocused, LED spinning gold, meaning he’s running some kind of analysis or that he’s communicating with their backup, letting them know what’s happened.

Hank really fucking hopes that it’s the latter, that backup will be here any moment so that they can get the fuck out of here and so Hank can go drown the feeling of nearly-naked Connor pressing against his back so firmly in at least half a bottle of whiskey.

“Officers are closing in now,” Connor murmurs, his voice _right fucking next to_ Hank’s ear; it’s sheer willpower that keeps him from shivering.

“Good,” he mutters. “Sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

“Are you uncomfortable, Lieutenant?” Connor asks - but there’s something else in his voice that makes Hank want to squirm.

He doesn’t, but damn it, where was this self-control back before he started drinking so damn heavily? “I’m fine,” he grunts. “Shut up, will you? Trying to make sure we don’t have to get into a fight while you’re practically naked.”

“My sensors are much better suited,” Connor says, and now he sounds distinctly amused.

“Fuck you, Connor, shut up and let me feel useful,” Hank grumbles, resolutely ignoring the silent chuckle Connor gives that makes him move against Hank’s back in a way that Hank _really_ shouldn’t be thinking about. Connor could probably scan him and figure out what’s going on, and that’s embarrassing as all hell, but Hank could deal with it - but he’d also just… rather not, if possible.

Unfortunately, even thinking of dead kittens, or Reed’s dick, or Hank’s grandmother’s nasty cigar-seasoned car isn’t enough to get his mind fully off the situation he’s found himself in. _Fortunately_ , Connor doesn’t say anything else until they determine the hall is clear.

It’s a relief to get out of that cramped closet, even if it means that Hank now has to look at Connor standing in the stark light of the hallway, nothing but black briefs similar to what the androids who work at the refurbished and “under new management” Eden Club wear. Connor had told him that androids were designed for harmonious integration with humans, had elaborated later on that he himself was designed to be able to pass as human completely should espionage be needed.

Hank had tried not to think about what that might mean, but he’s gotten one _hell_ of a major clue that it means that Connor’s been designed to be… ‘anatomically correct,’ so to speak. He was given a lean physique, not overly muscled, but not skinny, either. He’s even got a skim of fine hair over his stomach, a trail that disappears beneath the waistband of the snug briefs. Hank tries really, _really_ hard not to focus on the way Connor’s nipples react to the air of the corridor; that’s helped by the sudden static over his radio, Chris calling in the location of the suspect so that Hank and Connor can get on their way.

If Hank stores the images away for later, well… No one but him will know.

* * *

Connor’s been staring at him.

Hank’s busy making dinner, pot of soup simmering as he chops vegetables to dump in with the meat and noodles. Connor’s been after him lately to eat healthier, including preparing meals beforehand to take into the station to heat up for lunches. Hank hadn’t put up too much of a fuss in the face of Connor’s earnest expression and concern.

“What are you looking at?” he asks after the third time he catches Connor watching him. It comes out suspicious, which is slightly better than defensive.

Connor’s head tilts, and his eyes narrow, LED whirling; Hank doesn’t like that look _at all_. Connor’s expression clears, turning almost pleasant, and Hank likes that look even less. “I was looking at your ass, Hank,” he says calmly.

Hank chokes on air. “You were _what_?” he demands, just barely remembering to put the knife down on the counter before he whirls to look at Connor with wide eyes.

“I was looking at your ass,” Connor repeats, the legs of the chair he’s sitting in scraping against the kitchen floor as he pushes it back, getting to his feet. He’s not in his suit - Hank had managed to finally talk him into wearing more casual clothes around the house a few weeks back, so Connor’s wearing a pair of Hank’s old DPD academy sweatpants and a t-shirt - but the way he’s walking reminds Hank far too much of how he commands an interrogation room.

Look, all he’s saying is he suddenly has a whole new appreciation for _why_ suspects tend to fold like a house of cards when Connor starts in on them.

“W-Why were you staring at my ass?” Hank thinks he can be forgiven for the stutter considering the way Connor walks into his space like he _owns_ it, crowding Hank back against the counter without trapping him.

“Because,” Connor says, LED turning lazily as his gaze roves over Hank’s face, “I’d rather like to get my hands on it. And I think _you_ would like me to do so, as well.”

Hank swallows heavily, almost wishes that he were drunk for this conversation. “What makes you think that?” he manages to ask sans stutter while meeting Connor’s gaze.

The corner of Connor’s mouth twitches upwards, a half-smirk that, coupled with the dark intensity in his eyes, makes Hank’s knees, already buckling, go even weaker. It’s only his death grip on the counter and sheer willpower keeping him standing at this point, and the latter’s wavering, too. “Your reactions,” Connor says, LED speeding up and blinking gold for a brief moment as he, presumably, scans Hank. “Your heart rate speeds up whenever I get close. Your pupils are dilated now, just as much as they were even after you’d adjusted to the light of the hallway after we came out of the closet. You can’t keep your eyes off of me, Hank; I’ve seen you watching me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Hank swallows again, trying to find some words that might make it through his damn throat. “You’ve seen all that, and you’re still standing here. Why?”

Hank’s got a couple of inches on Connor, but when Connor presses in close, pushes their chests together while his hands come to cover Hank’s where they’re gripping the counter, his fingers weaving their way between Hank’s, he suddenly feels small in a way he hasn’t in decades. “I’d have thought that was obvious, Lieutenant. I know you can’t scan me, but surely a human of your age should be able to tell when someone is coming on to them?”

“Connor, I - “

“I find you _very_ attractive, Hank,” Connor says, cutting off the protest he was about to make. “If you truly don’t want to have sex with me, that’s fine. I’ll back off, and this never needs to come up again. But if you’re about to say ‘no’ just because you think I haven’t thought this through, or because I’m projecting on you, or only feel this way because we practically live in each other’s pockets, then I’m going to have to tell you that you’re wrong, because I have, I’m not, and I don’t.”

Hank grumbles wordlessly, but he relaxes away from the counter, just slightly - testing. The movements pushes them even closer together, until they’re pressed together from knee to shoulder, and after a moment Hank twists his fingers free of Connor’s just long enough for him to flip his hands to properly join theirs together. “You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, huh,” he says, and it’s not a question, more an observation.

Connor still answers like it’s a question, even while he smiles at Hank in a way that makes Hank’s heart threaten to just fucking melt into the vicinity of his feet. “I have. Androids don’t require the same sleep as humans, only the occasional stasis to recharge. I have a _lot_ of free time on my hands, and my mind likes to stay busy.”

Hank licks his lips, watches the way Connor’s eyes track the movement. “Busy with what, exactly?” Hank dares to ask, voice dropping down into a low murmur.

“Constructing scenarios,” Connor answers, his own voice just as low, rough like he’s having trouble articulating himself - but he’s a fucking _android_ , he doesn’t get lumps in his throat or anything like that, he has to make himself talk that way, and the fact that he is…

Hank doesn’t know what to do with that fact, but he likes it.

He likes it a lot.

“These scenarios always involve us standing here talking all night long?” he wonders, one eyebrow rising as he looks down at Connor, ignoring the way his heart is now pounding in his chest. Is he really doing this? _Baiting_ Connor like this?

It appears so, because Connor doesn’t hesitate before he answers. “Usually by now we’re already in the bedroom. Or at least on the couch.”

“What, you not even going to kiss me first?” Hank asks, grinning around the words.

Connor’s own eyebrow rises, a slow smirk curving his mouth. “Are you a romantic at heart, Hank?” he asks, teasing. “Do you need to do things a certain way?”

“Maybe I just like kissing,” Hank retorts, stepping forward and nudging Connor back until he’s seated on the kitchen table. The fact that Connor’s _letting_ Hank move him like that makes his blood run hot, and Hank can’t help the way he looms, just a little bit, as he braces himself on the table, hands on either side of Connor’s hips, fitting himself between Connor’s thighs and bringing his head down until their lips are barely a breath apart.

“Do you?” Connor asks, whispers, the bare tease of his lips forming the words almost enough to break Hank then and there. “I’ve heard it’s rather enjoyable - “

Whatever else he was about to say, Hank swallows, surging forward to seal their mouths together, taking Connor’s mouth in a rough, almost desperate kiss. He feel’s Connor’s hands fly to his shoulders, one curving around the back of his neck, the other venturing further, fingers combing through his hair before grasping, tugging, and Hank _moans_ into the kiss, unable to keep his own hands still any longer.

His hands find Connor’s thighs first, fingers digging into the synthetic flesh beneath fabric, delighting in the way it makes Connor gasp. “You like that?” Hank asks, all but pants into the next kiss, grinning as Connor nods frantically.

“I turned up my physical sensors,” he says, hips rocking beneath Hank’s hands as he runs them up, up and over the waistband of Connor’s borrowed sweatpants, under the hem of his shirt until he can finally touch that smooth skin he’s been unable to get out of his mind all day. “I can feel - everything, so much _more_ \- Hank, please - “

“I’ve got you,” Hank hums, one hand skimming over Connor’s ribs to spread across his back, tug Connor in closer to him. His cock twitches at the contact - and when he feels the hard ridge of _Connor’s_ cock, he growls. “Jesus, Connor, you weren’t kidding about being designed for full integration.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Connor pants, the fingers of one hand kneading at Hank’s shoulder, the other slipping down between them and then around, until it’s cupping Hank’s ass and encouraging his own hips forward in a slow roll. “ _God,_ Hank,” he sighs, head dropping back and baring the line of his jaw, his neck, to Hank’s mouth and teeth - an offering Hank takes full advantage of.

Connor encourages them into a fast rhythm, one hard enough to make the table he’s sitting on protest loudly, not that Hank’s paying much attention to it at the moment. He’s got Connor in his arms, his skin under his mouth, his hands on Connor and Connor’s hands on his, and for once he doesn’t have to imagine what kinds of noises Connor might make during sex, because they’re _right goddamn there_ in front of him.

He’s pretty sure the table is sturdy enough to hold Connor long enough for them to get off.

Hank hasn’t had sex with a partner in years, only occasionally bothering with his own right hand until Connor showed up, so he’s really not surprised when he feels that familiar coil of heat at the base of his spine so quickly. Regretful, because he really wanted this to last a bit longer, but not surprised. “Fuck, Connor, I’m - _Shit,_ I’m not gonna last much longer,” he manages to warn through gritted teeth pressed against Connor’s shoulder.

“That’s alright,” Connor says, and when the _hell_ did he learn how to make his voice sound so _sinful_ , “I’ve got you, Hank, come on - I want to see how accurate my preconstruction software is, I want to see you come, come on, _Hank -_ “

Hank comes with a hoarse shout that vaguely resembles Connor’s name, yanking Connor as close as he possibly can, hips twitching as he rides out the waves of his orgasm. When he comes back to himself, he realizes Connor’s fucking _petting_ him, carding his fingers through Hank’s hair and running his hands over Hank’s shoulders, murmuring nonsense words that almost sound like praise under his breath.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to gather enough brain cells to realize that Connor’s still hard, hasn’t come yet, but when he slips a hand between them, cupping Connor’s cock through the fabric of his pants, Connor pushes his hand away. “I’ve got plans,” he says by way of explanation when Hank makes a questioning noise. His voice is a low, rough promise that makes Hank _shiver_.

“Plans, huh?” Hank murmurs, tilting his head and seeking Connor’s mouth out again for a lingering kiss. “You wanna let me in on them?”

Connor pulls back, grinning. “Why don’t I show you what I have in mind?” he suggests, nudging Hank’s shoulder until he backs away from the table, letting Connor slide off of it. Connor turns towards the hallway, glancing over his shoulder at Hank. “You should probably turn the stove off, Lieutenant,” he says, and Hank decides he really likes the way his title rolls off of Connor’s tongue. “My plans are rather… extensive.”

Hank swallows hard before doing as Connor suggests. He takes a brief moment to down a glass of water - no alcohol, not now. He doesn’t want to risk forgetting _anything_ about what they’re about to do.

When he finally heads down the short hallway to his bedroom, finally turns the corner and enters, he just about swallows his tongue.

Connor’s undressed, clothes in a neat pile on the chair on the other side of Hank’s bed, but the way he’s _sprawled_ himself across the bed is obscene, something straight out of Hank’s fantasies. He’s almost afraid to move, to touch and find out that this is just some dream, but -

“You know, I can’t show you what I have planned if you stand in the doorway,” Connor says, tone amused, expression soft, fond, as he looks at Hank, and raises one hand in invitation.

Hank takes a deep breath, and takes the invitation. He steps forward, moving until he can climb onto the bed, one knee on either side of Connor’s hips. He reaches up, cradling Connor’s face in his hands, leaning in for another kiss, one that Connor readily gives him. Connor’s own hands roam over his shoulders, light touches barely skimming his skin before he feels a tugging at his shirt.

“You’re overdressed, Hank,” Connor murmurs, sitting up and pushing Hank back onto his haunches. “Think we could fix that?”

“I - It’s not pretty, Connor,” Hank says quietly, unable to meet Connor’s eyes. “Haven’t been taking very good care of myself for a while now.”

“I know,” Connor says, voice even, one hand coming up to curl over Hank’s shoulder, around the back of his neck. “I know, and I’d like to see you, anyway, Hank. You’re a good man, and you’re taking care of yourself now, that matters far more to me than how you behaved in the past.”

Hank clears his throat of the lump it’s grown, hesitating for another moment before he gives Connor a short, tight nod. The slow smile that spreads across Connor’s expression is almost enough to get rid of the butterflies dancing in his stomach. Almost, but not quite. Hank closes his eyes as Connor lifts his shirt up and off, keeps them closed as he wriggles out of his own sweatpants and underwear, even as he hears the fabric land on the floor beside the bed.

With his eyes closed, he can’t see when Connor moves, so he jumps, pulling in a shaky breath when he feels a touch on his chest, right over where he knows the tattoo he’d regretted the morning after is. He’d wanted something tangible to tie him to the son that was no longer there, but… Every time he saw it in the mirror, glimpsed it from the corner of his eye, he heard brakes screeching and Cole’s terrified scream.

When he finally dares to open his eyes, he meets Connor’s and offers a wry twist of his lips. “Bet you didn’t expect some ink, huh?” he asks, quiet.

Connor’s fingers trace the outline of the chess piece knight, a gentle pressure that Hank can barely feel. “No, I did not,” he says thoughtfully, “but I like it. You don’t seem to, though.”

“I got it a couple months after Cole died,” Hank mutters. “He was fascinated with an old chess set I had, liked playing with the pieces like they were toy soldiers or something. The knight was his favorite.”

Connor’s expression softens, and his hand moves from the faded tattoo to curl around Hank’s neck, his thumb sweeping over his jaw before drawing him into a soft kiss that makes the corners of Hank’s eyes prickle with unshed tears. When Connor pulls back, Hank clears his throat awkwardly. “I thought we were doing something else tonight?”

Connor lets him steer the two of them away from the topic of Cole and how Hank had handled his death. “Yes, I did tell you I had plans, didn’t I?” he says, affecting a thoughtful expression that’s so overdone Hank can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, you did,” he says with a grin. “I’m still waiting to hear what these plans are.”

“I believe I said that I wanted to show you,” Connor replies, laughing. “Do you trust me?”

Hank licks his lips, watching the way Connor’s eyes track the movement, LED spinning briefly. “I do.”

The words have barely left his lips before the room spins - or rather, it looks like it does, because _he’s_ the one who spun, Connor flipping them too quickly for Hank’s human eyes and brain to keep up with. When he can finally see straight again, he realizes that Connor’s on his lap, smirking down at him and rocking forward to grind his cock against Hank’s, dragging a choked-off groan from Hank’s throat. “If you want to ride me, Connor, I’m gonna have to disappoint you,” he says, reaching up to grasp at Connor’s upper arms.

“Tempting,” Connor hums, shifting until he can use a knee to nudge apart Hank’s thighs. “But I have something a bit different in mind.” This time, when he rocks forward, Hank’s noise is a _moan_.

“Connor, I - I haven’t done that in a _long_ time,” he says, breathless.

“I thought so,” Connor murmurs, leaning down for another kiss that Hank readily gives him. “But I think it could be… _fun._ ”

Hank’s hesitated about making an awful lot of decisions in his life, and he’s jumped without looking into just as many. This is one of the ones where he jumps.

“ _Alright,_ ” he breathes, relaxing against the mattress; above him, Connor _beams_ , and Hank may still be a little apprehensive about bottoming for the first time since the academy, but he trusts Connor with his life - a trust Connor has never given him cause to regret before.

Connor doesn’t waste any time, reaching up to drag Hank into a frenzied kiss, his body one long, smooth line against Hank’s. Hank gives himself over to Connor, lets the android do as he will - Connor’s clearly got a plan, given how his hands roam lower, over Hank’s chest and stomach, and he follows them with his mouth, kissing and biting. He seems to relish in the sounds he’s dragging from Hank, LED flickering between blue and gold every time Hank gasps.

Eventually, Connor nudges against Hank’s thigh, urging him to spread his legs wider, to make room for Connor’s shoulders. Hank does, swearing when Connor’s teeth nip at the tender skin on the inside of his thigh. “You know, I can access the Internet at any time, and when you and Sumo are asleep, I have… a lot of free time,” he says idly, thumb sweeping over Hank’s knee. “And ever since becoming deviant, I’ve been… experimenting. A lot of the time, I’ve been watching videos, trying to find things I think I might like. And this… I want you to try this on me, but for right now, I want to do it to _you._ ”

“Connor, what are you - _nnngh,_ ” Hank gasps, mouth dropping open as Connor’s fucking _tongue_ swipes over his hole. “Jesus, Connor, what the hell is with you and your goddamn _mouth -_ “

Connor pulls back, laughing. “I was quite literally designed to use my mouth as much as possible,” he says with a grin, glancing up to meet Hank’s gaze, and the picture he makes has Hank’s cock giving a valiant twitch, trying to get back into the game.

“Yeah, but you’ve had blood and who knows what other shit on it - “

“You didn’t seem to have any complaints about that when you were sucking on it a few minutes ago,” Connor points out, his grin widening. “At any rate, I’m fully equipped with sterilization fluid, to prevent sample contamination. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Hank would say something sarcastic, but then Connor bends his head back to his self-assigned task, and he loses his train of thought to Connor’s dedicated tongue. Hank can tell he’s gotten his technique from porn; he’s enthusiastic, but his technique is unrefined, sloppy.

Connor is nothing if not a quick learner, however; he’s probably using that damned computer brain of his to take note of all of Hank’s reactions, what makes him moan, what makes his squirm, what makes him sigh, gasp, clutch desperately at the sheets.

 _That’s probably exactly what he’s doing,_ Hank thinks, one of the rare full sentences he’s managed to string together since Connor started rimming him. It’s also probably going to be one of the last.

Against all odds and his previous experience, Hank feels his cock stir, heat pooling in his gut. He’s probably not going to get more than half-hard, but hell if he’s not looking forward to Connor fucking him, even if he doesn’t come again.

Eventually, Connor pulls back, lifting himself onto his knees and running his hands over Hank’s thighs, squeezing thoughtfully around the giving flesh. “You are… very vocal,” he observes, but the smile on his face suggests he doesn’t mind.

“Yeah, well, been living alone for the last several years, never needed to be quiet,” Hank grunts, exhaling a shaky sigh when Connor’s hand brushes over his cock.

“I like it,” Connor decides. “Would you hand me the lubricant you have in the drawer there?”

“How do you - You nosy fucker, you been snooping around my bedroom while I’m asleep?” Hank asks, even as he reaches out blindly for the drawer handle, yanking it open and not bothering to close it after he fishes the lube out.

“I told you, I have a lot of free time, and I have many plans - plans require _planning_ ,” Connor says, taking the lube from Hank with a guileless grin that doesn’t fool Hank for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank says, rolling his eyes. He’s smiling, too, though, so he supposes he can’t be _too_ indignant about Connor’s ‘planning.’ “You gonna get a move on or what?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Connor hums, flicking the cap open with one hand and squeezing some lube out onto the fingers of his other hand. He reaches down between them, and then pauses; right before Hank’s about to ask him what the fuck he’s waiting for, a smirk sneaks across his face. “Would you turn your head to the side and cough, please?”

Hank socks him in the shoulder, not even caring about the ache in his knuckles afterward. “Very funny, Connor,” he snorts, but he can’t help his grin, or the way the joke’s helped him relax from how he’d unintentionally tensed.

“You laughed,” Connor points out, look entirely too pleased with himself. Before Hank can say anything else, Connor slips a finger against his hole, dragging firmly against him, and Hank’s words turn into a moan. Connor’s expression turns thoughtful, his LED spinning yellow, and Hank’s suddenly very, _very_ aware of the fact that he’s got an _android_ between his legs. “I liked that sound,” he muses, “I wonder how many times I can get it out of you again?”

“Something tells me you’re gonna try to find out no matter what I say,” Hank says wryly, hand flying up to grasp at Connor’s arm when Connor eases a finger into his hole. “ _Fuck,_ Connor!”

“We can do that later,” Connor quips, and Hank thumps him weakly in the shoulder; he’s too distracted to do more by the way Connor immediately starts working him open, working Hank’s body like he downloaded a goddamn manual to it.

Heat winds up his spine, ratcheting higher and higher as Connor’s fingers work inside him until he’s almost thrashing on the bed, unable to do anything except beg for more, more _more_ -

“I never thought I’d be able to get you to beg the first time,” Connor says, almost to himself. “I thought I’d have to work you up to that.”

“I told you it’s been a while,” Hank grumbles. “And don’t let it go to your head, but you’re good at this, for only having porn to work with.”

“I’ll try not let my ego get too big,” Connor laughs, leaning over Hank for a deep kiss, groaning into it when Hank buries his hands in Connor’s hair, messing up that near-perfect hairstyle and _tugging_. “Damn it, Hank, quit distracting me,” he mutters, finally pulling back with an unneeded gasp that makes Hank’s own ego flare.

“Well then get going,” Hank retorts, hooking one of his legs around Connor’s hip so he can pull him closer.

Connor gives him a smile and another kiss before his hips roll, and Hank swears a breathless blue streak at the stretch of Connor’s cock filling him up. It’s not a painful stretch, but it’s definitely a stretch Hank feels, and when Connor’s hips finally come to rest against his ass, Hank’s panting. “Fucking hell,” he gasps. “Jesus that’s - _Fuck_ , I forgot how good that feels.”

“Yeah?” Connor asks, holding himself as still as only an android can.

“Yeah,” Hank says - almost sighs. “C’mon, Connor, you can move. Fuck me.”

Connor moves slowly at first, drawing his hips back before pushing back in, LED spinning and flickering as Hank gasps with his movements. When Hank digs his heel into the back of Connor’s thigh and urges him on, though, Connor lets loose. The sound of their skin slapping together is _obscene_ , and Connor doesn’t technically need to breathe, but hell if the grunts and gasps he lets out in tandem with Hank don’t work Hank up even more.

“Fuck,” Hank gasps, hands grasping at Connor’s shoulders and arms, anywhere he can reach, desperate for any contact he can get. “ _Shit_ , Connor, are you trying to give me a fucking - _Fuck!_ ”

Connor shifts his hips while Hank’s bitching, and then Hank sees stars when Connor’s cock drags over his prostate. “Found it,” Connor murmurs, a pleased smirk curving his lips, and Hank opens his mouth to start cussing him out, only for the words to turn into moans when Connor starts a relentless assault against that spot.

“ _Jesus_ , Connor, I - Fuck, I don’t think - “

“Just trust me, Hank,” Connor says, dipping in to catch Hank’s mouth in a biting kiss. “I’ll get you there, just let me.”

And damn it, Hank _does_ trust Connor, and when Connor’s looking at him like that, like Hank’s the most important goddamn thing he’s ever seen in his life, what the hell else is Hank supposed to do except nod and give himself over?

It’s worth it for the smile Connor gives him, the kiss he bestows on Hank, the warmth behind it and the reverent touches he trails over Hank’s skin. When Connor wraps a hand around Hank’s cock, Hank hisses out a sharp breath, his grip on Connor’s shoulder tightening. Connor’s hand works him in counterpoint to his thrusts, and up until about two minutes ago, Hank would have _sworn_ there was no way he was coming twice in one night, but here he is, being steadily dragged toward the brink again with no signs of slowing.

There’s a sheen of sweat on Connor’s shoulders, and Hank spares a brief moment to marvel at the fact that CyberLife really did mean _complete_ harmonious integration, but that’s really all he has thought for before Connor’s kissing him again, then moving to the side, nipping along his jaw and sucking a bruise over the pulse in his neck, and Hank’s gasping for breath.

“Fucking hell, Connor, I - _Motherfucker_ , you better come with me this time, I swear to - “ Hank cuts himself off, half-hard cock spurting out a few half-hearted string of come as he does.

Connor curses under his breath, hips jerking before he presses in close, and Hank swears he can feel his synthetic come filling him up. Hank pulls Connor down on top of him, wincing slightly when Connor’s cock slips out of his hole. Connor goes easily, curling against Hank’s chest and sighing contentedly when Hank starts petting at his hair. “That feels nice,” he hums.

Hank can’t help chuckling. “You just about blew my damn brains out with your dick, and _this_ is what feels ‘nice’?”

“That felt felt nice, too, but I assumed you knew that,” Connor retorts, but Hank can hear his grin, so he doesn’t take the bite in his words to heart.

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna fall asleep on me now?”

“I was under the impression most humans would want to clean up after having someone come inside of them,” Connor says, lifting his head enough so that he can look at Hank with a raised eyebrow.

“What part about ‘damn near blew my brains out’ didn’t you understand?” Hank grumbles, arms tightening around Connor. “I’m not going anywhere until after a nap, and I’ll just deal with dry come when I wake up. I’m old, I don’t give a shit anymore.”

“You’re going to complain about it endlessly until you get in the shower,” Connor predicts, smiling.

“Maybe. But hey, you could always kiss me and make me shut up, now.”


End file.
